


Neverend

by Ryellee



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Nightmares (Destiny), Season of Arrivals, no beta we die crying in the corner, sudden parallels to healing from a mental disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27866694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryellee/pseuds/Ryellee
Summary: Grief is tricky, it ambushes you from behind.
Relationships: Eris Morn & Asher Mir
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Neverend

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt "Spirits follow everywhere I go", originally posted on my tumblr.

When Eris sees the wisp of red for the first time, she lets out an annoyed sigh and returns to her work.

That the pyramid has settled on using proven methods is no surprise to her, but she finds it rather irritating. Somewhere deep inside her, under all the layers of concern and rationality, a glimmer of pride is hurt and offended—that she has not been deemed worthy of a challenge, that all she gets is cheap tricks she’s already found a way to unravel. Pride is a foul advisor so she pays no mind to its whispers, but the disappointment rings hollow when Eris rises her eyes to the pyramid and wonders if she overstated the threat.

The smoke is like shadows, swirling just above the ground, matching the curls on its ivory bark as it creeps from under the roots of the Tree of Silver Wings. She passes over it. One hand always close to her pendants, she continues the studies and writes her journal, cleans weapons and waters the garden plot. The red haze is an idle thought, pushed to the back of her mind as she embroiders her shawl with new beads.

The first time she sees it move, she breaks out into a chant to distract herself.

It has been a silhouette for days now; a huddled figure in the corner of her eye, omittable like breathing, always there. It does not rise its head to her. When she turns her back to it, it does not feel like being watched, but something inside her shudders and after a moment she finds she is facing it again. It is cowering under a root, just a step away from the circle of light her lantern gives at night. Unhelmeted, a palm covering its face, it remains perfectly still like a crimson mannequin. She looks past it.

One morning, upon waking up, Eris notices it has changed; it is reaching out the other hand now, grotesquely long fingers stretched out desperately in her direction. It is the first time she consciously acknowledges its presence.

 _Eris_ , it whispers, _Eris Morn, you could have saved me._

No, she thinks, I could not deter you from your choice. I would never argue for your survival because that would be selfish and wrong, and I may be greedy for love but I will not stoop to theft.  
She barely sleeps for three nights after.

The evacuation order rings loud and clear in her ears as she is packing up her humble camp; pots and cutlery clinking when she throws them clumsily into a bag and showers with a handful of beads. The figure is cowering behind her, its hand still outstretched, the other one curled on the ground so she can see its face. She notices it has moved closer; she can spot the movement of its empty eyes as they follow her around.

Eight hours before the departure Eris is shivering under the blanket, irked by the sensation of being watched. Her fingers twitch with nothing to be occupied with, and she finds she is biting her hangnails only when her mouth tastes the blood. She feels the red eyes upon herself, cold and analytical, as if scanning her throughout.

It is beyond aggravating. She rises her head from the sleeping mat and meets the phantom’s hollow gaze, her hand reaching instinctively to the strings of beads and pendants her hood is heavy with.  
She likes to think of it as wearing her past on herself so that she would not have to carry it within. Letting it adorn her and not burden. A sentiment the practical Eriana would roll her eyes upon and the intricate Toland scoff but secretly marvel at. The pendants used to be her protection against the ghouls and later grew into a trophy—a skin she had shed, clothing she’d outgrown but still kept around for comfort. The thought they would have to become a weapon once again disturbs her.

Is this another illusion of recovery? That for one shaky step forward there come miles and miles of being pushed back?

Maybe she was foolish to think she would keep that chapter closed, locked away and buried. Maybe there will never be a lifetime when she does not fall for these old tricks again.  
The phantom is sitting motionlessly, and she is motionless too, and it has one hand reached out and hers is clutching the pendants. And she falls for the tricks and listens.

The whisper is a wisp of red smoke. _Go rest your weary head, Eris_.

I’m not weary, Eris thinks, I cannot rest. The path is clear. These are all distractions, thick as a fog, stinging in the eyes, but dissolvable. The roaring horrors of the Moon dispersed like a haze and so will this one, because now she has the advantage of knowing how to fight it.

_Do you remember the purplish evenings? Libraries enwrapped in silence so deep you could not hear the whispers? It was a gentle diversion. A respite._

“For the you-who-is-not-you,” she whispers, focusing on a clump of grass nearby to keep her thoughts at bay. She will dissect this another time, when her mind is steadier and her feet won’t trip so easily. The pendants are a lifeline, and she struggles to close the floodgates until the current sweeps in and carries her even further back.

The choice you made was yours alone, she thinks.

She cannot push the image out; a hand reached out towards hers in an awkward, staged farewell. Is this really what it was, a prearranged act, because both of them knew what it would come down to eventually? Was it just the final spin of their dance around the subject? She though they had made peace with the finality of it, embraced it like the last deep breath before drowning. She thought they had wept over their parting long before that necessity occurred.

What a foolish attempt to preexperience the pain.

This is not the real goodbye, her mind fights back, not with the you-who-is-not-you, you’re just a distraction and a shadow, you’re not ruining him, you’re not ruining the memory, I’m not letting you.

 _We could have rested at last_ , it coos, but Eris just shakes her head. It is a lie, a lie, she keeps repeating as she shoves all the thoughts flashing through her brain at lightspeed into a tightly-sealed box and buries it. A lie, her pendants reassure her, the texture of the beads a grounding familiarity. She forces her eyes away from the phantom.

Her fingers ache for its outstretched hand, but she knows it is, too, a lie. She moves her sleeping mat to the far corner of the cavern and does not sleep a wink for the rest of the night.

The ship assigned to take her to the City is waiting atop the cliff overlooking the Cradle, minuscule against the black enormity of the Pyramid. She is dizzy both from the arduous hike and sleeplessness, and the whole world seems brighter; colours and angles cut sharp against her tired eyes. The pilot is a polite Awoken Guardian who smiles at her when she approaches and takes her overloaded bag. The kindness feels genuine.

Eris tucks a new phaseglass pendant under her collar and glances at the Cradle for the last time, not mourning the shadowy figure who bid her farewell from under the Tree of Silver Wings.  
When the ship takes off, she is sitting her back to the window, too frightened she might spot a trace of red over the Pyramidion.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to fight the urge to summarise it with "When you've dealt with grief finally and then another one of your friends dies".
> 
> Whooo my first ever fic published outside of tumblr ever! I'm proud and terrified. Comments are greatly appreciated ^-^


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